Naughts and Crosses
by skazi-lou
Summary: In the future, the democracy is over. Commander Odin has ruled for over forty years with an iron grip, and no one has dared to challenge his power. But when his son Loki returns from the dead and joins the resistence, will his strength be enough to silence the voice of the people? (Or: How a war of ideas is more dangerous than a war of guns. You can't kill ideas, anyways.)
1. New Age

This will be Frostiron, by the way. I just have a massive amount of plot to go through before.

Anyways, this idea was hovering over my head for a few months now, while I was studying history. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'd recommend you to read this listening to T.T.L's Deep Shadows.

* * *

"_WAR IS PEACE_

_FREEDOM IS SLAVERY_

_IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH"_

- **George Orwell, 1984 **

* * *

_Before, the world was a mess._

_There were many, many countries that battled each other. Each wanted to be the best, to succeed, and their lives were ruled by money in an old system called capitalism. Despite government claims that everybody was equal under the law, capitalism ensured that whoever had more money ruled._

_Then, in 2018, everything changed. All the tensions between countries led the world to a war never seen before, one that ruined every population and spread hunger, misery and suffering all around our world. However, in the middle of this disastrous scenario, a light appeared to all of us – Our first ruler, Savior and Protector, Buri._

_Buri was the best governor the fallen America could have hoped for. He gave us unity, uniformity, happiness, and the certainty that we would know peace. In return, he asked only for our compliance, a very low price to pay._

_To ensure that our country would be totally new, freed from all boundaries that once existed from inside out, Buri was kind enough to dedicate his life to make America a better place, and he succeeded. Three hundred years later, we still stand, strong as ever, as a warm light for all mankind – an example of civilization and recovery from dark, immoral times._

_We now celebrate the Naming Day of Buri's direct descendent, our beloved leader, Odin III. We thank him for his very existence, and above all, we thank him for being so full of compassion and wisdom to lead us through the right path._

_May all the glory and honor follow him through the rest of his life."_

* * *

When Amora woke up that morning, she felt an odd feeling pooling in her stomach.

Since waking up feeling a bit odd wasn't unusual, she ignored it and got ready for work, much like every other day. Her ration of milk was over, and it was too early to go to the nearest black market spot and buy some, so she had orange juice and an apple. Everyone knows that eating apples in the morning only gives you more hunger, though, and she had to eat the last piece of the real chocolate bar she was keeping for a special occasion.

Just like every other day, she was grumpy and didn't say hello to her neighbors while going down the staircases through five floors and the lobby - the elevator hadn't been working for a while now and almost everyone in the building was more worried about feeding their children than fixing an elevator.

When she was finally reached the streets, although the flush of (as far as it could be) fresh, cold air usually wiped away any strange feelings, the odder-than-usual feeling still lingered in her guts, but she shrugged it down and walked through the narrow alleys of Northern New York, avoiding all children and beggars and the junkies, as she had no patience for any of them.

Like any other day, after she walked a fair distance through the slums and reached the Central Avenue Boulevard that cut through what once was Central Park and went all the way down the Government Palace, she almost lost the monorail, and got into the wagon 3 seconds before the doors closed. The odd feeling was still in her gut and she chewed on her thumb for the entire time, until the Monorail stopped in front of the Futurepharm Tower.

Futurepharm Tower was where she worked as a secretary, and it was preparing for Commander Odin's Naming Day next week, every inch being scrubbed and polished until she could see her face reflected everywhere. For the next twelve hours she scheduled meetings, picked up holograms, and even helped Dr. Hansen choose a nail polish color, yet the odd feeling still persisted and she was getting a bit worried.

While she took the monorail back home, lots of possibilities ran through her head. Maybe the Void found out about all the black market stuff on her house and they were coming for her. Absent-mindedly, she ran her fingertips over the small numbers burned on her hip and shivered, but maybe that was only a snow storm coming and she would have to buy new blankets and socks and coats, even though right now she really didn't have the money. She was considering the cold clothes that she already had when the monorail reached where she had to get down.

Like every other day, she walked home, making her way through children (How she loathed children, Jesus), and narrow alleys. Her apartment was a one-room thing, the building too old to still be somehow respectable, but she kept it carefully and it was home all the same, so when she arrived, as every day, she put a song in the old music player and had dinner in front of the old television. There was a movie about Commander Buri's life showing but she didn't pay it any attention, because she knew that movie from the beginning to end -all the lines and plot twists. They would play that movie every week at school when she was a child until she knew every line and pause of breath.

When it was about midnight, she turned off the television, put the dirty plate in the sink, brushed her teeth, put on her pajamas, and went to bed, but even in the comfort of her nice, cozy blanket and fluffy pillow (Courtesy of the black market), she was still feeling odd, stomach not wanting to keep the food in.

But Amora was a grown up woman, and did what every sane, mature, adult woman would do in her place – she pushed those thoughts somewhere she couldn't think about them and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

When she woke up at three in the morning, she was sure that she had heard someone knocking on her door.

Rain was pouring outside, tapping restlessly against the window frame, and she thought it was just the rain. While snuggling back into her bed, knowing that she would have to wake up in three hours, she heard another knock on the front door. A cold shiver trailed down her spine and she was torn between being pissed at the person knocking on her door at three in the morning and being very afraid of whoever was doing it. Still torn, she rose from her bed and walked to the door, barefoot and barely dressed.

"Who is it?"

Pressing her ear against the door, she could hear a ragged breath, a cough or two and pressure of a body against the low-quality wood that she was sure as hell would crumble at any second now.

"Amora…"

No. It _couldn't_ be.

She opened the door as fast as she could, and, as expected, it was too fast for the person leaning on the other side of the door, and he fell on the floor.

Amora wasn't sure, but if she had to bet, she'd say that she opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish about fifty times before coming to her senses and dragging the man inside, closing the door. Then she knelt by his side, slowly, as if he were a trick or a dream that could vanish at any second, and carefully placed her fingertips on his cheeks, then making a path down to his throat, feeling the heightened heart rate and his difficulty of breathing. He was gaping and struggling and dozing in and out of consciousness, but he still managed to wrap his fingers around her wrist, squeezing and offering a small, pained smile. There was so much blood, and she didn't like it - she had hated the sight of blood since she was a little girl - and he seemed exhausted, like he'd walked miles and miles after clawing his way out of hell and not eaten once in the meantime.

"_Loki?_"

His smile got a little more bright and his eyes opened for a little bit, just enough to let her see how green they were, before he passed out, laying in the middle of the hallway.

* * *

Three in the morning became four. Four in the morning became five. Five in the morning became six when she should be, technically, waking up, but she was still sitting in the same spot since Loki (_Loki_), knocked on her door and passed out in her hallway. Odds were that he was dead right now, but she was just too shocked to do anything but sit and hug her knees.

The last time she saw Loki was right here, in this very hallway, four or five years ago – she had just moved in and was unpacking, the little flat becoming something like home, when he knocked on her door, as neat and impeccable as always, slick black hair combed back and a flawless suit perfectly tailored, green eyes softening at the sight of her bald head.

"_There's this awkward little tree I've found in the gardens once_ _that wasn't supposed to be there but I've grown quite fond of," h_e'd said._ Father tried to get it removed, but I asked him not to. He said he could keep it, but none of the gardeners would do anything about it – I would be responsible. As it turns out, it was actually a fruit tree."_

He took her wrist and placed a bag full of blackberries in her hand, and, although she was quite grateful since she had spent all of her money buying sheets from the black market and had no money left for food, she eyed him like he was insane. He smirked.

"_The fruit is called Blackberry, as you may know, but a few places around the world call it _Amora_. The tree almost died this year, but it survived, and personally, I think it only made the fruit sweeter."_ He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. _"Have a nice day, Amora."_

Then he turned on his back, followed by his two security guards, and left, leaving her with her mouth hanging open and a bag full of fruits in her hand.

The next day, she received a great sum of money in her bank account and a call from Futurepharm saying that they would be glad to offer her a job.

What Amora didn't understand was why he would care so much about her, since she was only the woman who his brother Thor fucked on a regular basis. Maybe he felt guilty because she was arrested by the Void, but they had claimed that she had had relationships with subversive people (like her brother Skurge), and they wanted information. If they tortured her, shaved her head, and burned numbers on her skin, Loki had nothing to do with it.

But she never really had a chance to ask why, first because he never showed up again (though there was money on her bank account every month), and second because, a year later, he was killed by extreme terrorists in an attack on his house in the suburbs.

Here's the thing – Loki was supposed to be very very dead. Like six feet under, dead and buried. He shouldn't – couldn't – be here, because dead people can't ask for help and sure as hell can't rise from the grave and knock on her door.

Carefully, she put a hand on his face – _shit_, it was too cold – and pushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead. That seemed to wake him up, since he opened up his eyes just a little bit and looked at her.

"Sorry I…" He gasped and inhaled deeply, like there was something in his lungs that made it difficult to breathe. "Couldn't find any… Blackberries this time."

She eyed him, still not believing that it was him, almost dying (again) on her floor.

"You're supposed to be dead."

He smirked and inhaled deeply again.

"I'm not."

For a brief second she considered leaving him to die. She couldn't take care of him, couldn't have that responsibility on her shoulders, she didn't want to be dragged into that mess again, but…

But Loki had been the nicest person to her during her time as Thor's concubine, so to speak. He would say hi and squeeze her shoulder when she looked sad. And he also gave her money when she needed to, out of jail and with a shattered sense of identity. Loki had been good to her and she never let her debts go unpaid.

So if she searched for his hand and held it tight, bringing it closer to her heart and trying to warm it in a useless effort, it was only because she had a great debt to him, not because she felt empathy. Empathy was dangerous.

"You're actually alive."

He grinned, lips stretched and teeth hidden.

"Barely."

"Barely is just enough," she said, and squeezed his hand a little bit harder.

* * *

Amora called her boss and said she had food poisoning. Since that was a common occurrence for someone who lived in the slums, and she actually looked like hell, bad enough for it to be visible through the hologram, Dr. Hansen gave her the week off. So that was one problem taken care of, and that left her with the six-foot-two man almost dead on her bed. Were he anyone else, she would've given him some nanogenes she stole from Futurepharm (the really good ones, not that crap they gave to people in the slums) and wait for it to solve the problem.

But here's the thing about nanogenes – they're like blood types. You can't give type B blood to someone whose blood type is A, and the same applies to nanogenes. If you have them implanted on your blood cells, whatever happens to you, they'll fix it. However, if you receive a dose of another nanogene, be it more advanced or outdated, your blood will coagulate and you'll be dead in less than 10 seconds.

Only rich people could afford nanogenes in blood cells, because the process was expensive and too delicate. Poor people only used nanogene-based medicines or localized nanogene treatment, and only the crappy ones that the government used on its hospitals. Loki was the youngest son of the Commander – of _course_ he would have nanogenes in his blood stream. What she could do was give him water, food and hope that whatever was done to him didn't affect the workings of the nanogenes or worse, made them turn into parasites. The last thing she needed was crazy pieces of metal eating away his platelets and making him a hemophilic.

She would have to wait and pray to whatever superior entity that Loki could handle that. In the meantime, she would make sure he was alive, but he didn't seem to be getting conscious anytime soon.

She had no other choice but to wait. And wait. And wait a little bit more.

When she was almost about to give up, he woke up for good.

One of the things that Loki was scared of the most was to be blind.

Despite general belief, he could survive without his mouth. A liar isn't made only by words – his body has to live the lie and perform it perfectly, be a perfect performer of himself. A liar must trick his own body and force it to tell the truth, but, above all that, he must see what the other person needs to hear and lie accordingly.

For that, he needs his eyes. Without them, a liar is nothing.

So when he regained consciousness for the first time in days and saw only darkness, he panicked, airways too tight and narrow to suck in the amount of air he needed. It felt like drowning, and it was too dark, and panic started building in his chest…

"Loki, goddamn it, stop this!" Someone hissed.

Hands gripped his arms and shook his body – he opened his eyes, suddenly, realizing that the darkness only existed because of his closed eyelids and finally, at last, he could see the light coming out of the window. He tried to get up, but his legs were too week and tangled on the sheets, making him lose balance and fall face-first on the floor.

"Damn you! What the hell are you trying to do?"

He turned around and his eyes were too slow to focus at the person kneeled at his side, holding his shoulders, but then he could see – long, blonde hair, green eyes with a very pissed off expression on her face.

Oh. Amora.

He was suddenly very confused. If his memory hadn't failed him (which is a possibility, his memory isn't as great as it used to be), the last thing he remembers was crossing a bridge, but then rain had started to pour down and it was so dark…

She seemed to notice his confusion, because she sighed and let go of his arms.

"I honestly hope that you're conscious this time – Repeating this all over again every time you wake up is becoming a nuisance. You showed up in my apartment. I put you on my bed and have been feeding you and taking you to the bathroom regularly, and having no sleep whatsoever in the meantime. Ring any bells?"

It sort of did – wandering around the slums under the heavy rain and feeling a spark of hope when he saw her building, but it was all blurred and messy inside his head. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and tried to look to the window again.

"…Light" He tried to say, but the words seemed heavy on his tongue – coughing, he tried again. "I... was se-searching for the light".

"There's light everywhere, it's noon." Amora replied, getting up from the floor. "But you're conscious this time, that's good."

"I've been sleeping?" He slurred each word, still getting used to use his mouth after so much time. He was getting annoyed – his eloquence seemed to be out on vacation, leaving him with the proficiency of a 4-year-old child.

"Five days, give or take a few hours. Try doing this," She pressed the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth and vibrated it, the sound resembling a jackhammer. "It helps".

He imitated it, and she nodded, wiping off the dust from her clothes. She stared at him for a while before leaning down and squeezing his shoulder lightly.

"Get on the bed, I'll fix some breakfast. Then you'll tell me what happened." She opened her wardrobe and picked out a few clothes, then set them on the bed and went to help him get up.

"Put me closer to the window," he muttered, feeling quite ashamed for relying on her help. She twisted her lips, glaring at him, and took him a few moments to understand what did she wanted. "… Please."

"Now we're talking. I'll grab a chair, wait a second."

He tried to get up while she was gone – the only result he got, however, was falling on his butt and making Amora cackle and choke with laughter when she saw the scene. She did help him get up and sit on the chair though, so he thought he could forgive that small fault, mostly because there was light, so much light, and he was relishing it like a small, starved plant savors a sunny day. Even though the skies were clouded and there was a thin rain falling, he still felt… peaceful.

He'd spent so much time in the darkness that light seemed a gift – he could see colors and patterns and shadows and everything seemed so much better with light that he even dared to put his hand through the window and let the small raindrops wet his skin.

What Amora was seeing, though, was a man that seemed very old and very young at the same time, and it was just so sad seeing someone who once held so much power to be so incredibly happy for something as simple as being close to the light – what kind of hell did he go through to come out like that?

"I'll go get some food," she said, putting on her coat.

"Fine," He answered, and she squeezed his shoulder before going out.

"I'm back!"

Loki jumped slightly from his spot, daring to take his eyes away from the window to look at Amora for one second. He barely acknowledged her leaving and he honestly couldn't tell if she had been away for a few minutes or a few hours, so absorbed he was on the window. She did realize that, though, since she gave him a small, kind smile, a rare thing coming from her as far as he could remember when he turned around to see her leaning on the doorframe.

"Got food?"

"Yes. My bread and coffee ration ended two days ago. Let me tell you, no wonder people starve to death, how can they expect a family of five to be satisfied with this," She shook her head, put all the bags on the floor and walked until she was side by side with him, pressing her hand to his shoulder, slightly, and removing it a moment later. She stared at the window with him for a few seconds before shrugging and sighing, turning around, picking the bags from the floor and making her way to the kitchen."Enjoying the view?" she asked.

"Not much," he said, staring at it through the big, ceiling-to-floor handmade window. From where he was, he had a privileged view of the slums and the Towers.

The slums were built over what was once the northern part of Manhattan Island. Ugly, poorly-made houses piled and stacked on top of each other invaded the once large streets, narrowing them until they were nothing but alleys, and the big buildings that once held power and prestige, though still standing, were aged and decrepit. Through time, their insides were taken over bit by bit by poor families with nowhere to go. The buildings that once were the pride and joy of the nation were now nothing but homes to poor, working families with too many kids. There and there, he could see children playing and running on the alleys, seemingly happy, but their parents all had worn out expressions as they were heading out to work, probably in factories. Half of what was the most important city in the world was now a decrepit, hopeless place.

On the horizon line, however, things were a lot different. That's because the southern part of Manhattan was where the Towers were.

The Towers were where the rich and powerful lived. The old remnants of what once was New York City were destroyed, and the Towers were built on top of it. Even the smallest one was twice the size of a big building in the slum area. Although it was pretty easy to spot a commercial tower or two, the commercial towers usually were in Los Angeles, Boston or Chicago, and those were like the mansions or palaces of powerful people, all hovering over the Palace. They didn't have streets or anything like that – aerocars didn't need streets – but there was, however, a sole avenue that begun in the slums and ended in front of the Government Palace.

He missed and loathed this view so much he felt sick.

But there was something going on though, because it was too golden – even the slums were golden, and that was really unusual. From where he was, he could see people decorating their houses with golden flowers and painting huge runes on their doors, and one or two towers were testing fireworks and holograms.

"Amora," He called, "is there something important going on?"

"What are you talking about?" She said, from somewhere around the kitchen.

"The streets, the houses, the towers, everything is being decorated. What day is it?"

Light steps approached him, and then Amora's short figure stood by his side, holding a dishcloth.

"Oh. That's for Odin's Naming Day. It's tomorrow. Everyone is expecting this; it will be the last one before Thor takes over. Rumor says that we are all going to receive extra butter for this, but I say bullshit, we haven't received extra butter for almost a year. Come, there's food, let me help you get up."

He put an arm around her shoulder and let himself be guided to the kitchen, and found the small table lined with a plaid cloth strangely amusing, so full of food like this. There was coffee, bread, a white cake, and something that looked like…

"Is this orange juice?" He asked, while she seated him on the chair closer to the jar and inspected it suspiciously.

"Are you seriously asking if I could get orange juice in the black market?" She shook her head, undoing the messy bun on it and letting the blonde locks fall graciously around her shoulders. "This is powered juice. Tastes awful compared to the actual one, but it does the trick."

Loki shrugged, pouring himself a glass of it and drinking, only to make a face a moment after. Amora was right, it was awful, but he drank it all anyways.

"Calm down. If my math is right, you haven't eaten in a long time, so do me a favor and eat slowly. The last thing I need is a dead body. I wouldn't even know where to hide you."

"You would."

She smirked, eyes wide and glimmering with amusement.

"Of course." She selected a loaf of bread, poured herself a mug of coffee and dipped the bread inside of it, ignoring Loki's disgusted expression at what she was doing. She brought her left knee closer to her, feet on the chair, and ate it all, biting and dipping it in the coffee. When she was almost done, she raised her eyes from her food. "So, feel like telling me?"

"Telling you what?"

"What happened? You're supposed to be dead. What happened, were you taken by the Void or something?"

Loki's hand froze midair, just when he was about to eat his loaf of bread. Something cold trailed down his spine, and at the same time, something warm flooded his eyes. His heart raced, and he didn't feel like eating anymore.

"I think you have to go to work," He replied, carefully putting the loaf back on the plate and not daring to meet her eyes.

"Nu-uh. Called in sick. You're not avoiding my questions now, son of the Commander."

If he didn't know Amora, he would think that she was mocking him.

But he knew Amora, so he knew she just didn't have tact. She could be beautiful, smart, clever, but she wasn't empathetic, she couldn't see anyone else's pain just as she couldn't share her own suffering. So he swallowed up the moisture on his eyes and raised his eyes to meet hers.

"He's not my father," he said, carefully and slowly, choosing the words like they were potential bombs. "And yes, I was taken by the Void."

"What have they done to you?"

"What do you _think_?"

An awkward silence settled down between them, and the air seemed denser. Both were immersed in their memories – memories of darkness, pain, hopelessness. Amora wanted to scream. Loki wasn't really sure that he wouldn't just wake up to the darkness again.

"They said it was a terrorist attack," She muttered, "what happened to you, I mean. There was an official week of mourning and everything. Vali even made a speech."

She could remember it perfectly, like a movie on her head – The announcement made by Commander Odin, voice full of grief, saying that extremists had killed his soon, a coldblooded murder, and that the guilty were found and would be hanged by the next day.

There was so much black, she remembered, while people mourned for the Commander's dead child (Even though many of them didn't even like Loki in the first place). Songs were written, and there was a minute of silence every day for a week, and the whole country stopped to see the coffin being carried by Odin, Thor, Heimdall, all those important men from the government, in a slow pace all the way down the Central Avenue Boulevard. It was all somehow beautiful, she recalled.

"He liked that," Loki gave a small smile. "He always liked to talk."

He looked at her, and his eyes were worn out, exhausted.

Before, Loki was the Commander's younger son. He had a wife, Sigyn, and Amora could remember her long, blond hair, almost white, and bright silver-gray eyes. He had two children - Vali, a black-haired boy with his mother's eyes, and Narfi, a blond kid that could glare just like his father, even at such a young age. Loki was rich, and he had enough influence to make his opinions be heard and was wise enough to know the power of words. People didn't like him, but he was feared and respected – he had ways to get what he wanted, even though, most of the time, those ways were rather obscure.

Yet next to his brother Thor, he was no more than a shadow – a shadow that could still whisper betrayals and lies and change things with just a flick of his tongue. Loki was no saint. Loki was powerful in his own way. He was too powerful, but only a few people, the few that had seen him put his silvertongue into action, the few that had seen him manipulate his brother in order to get what he wanted, like she did, all those years ago, realized that.

Maybe Odin also did. Maybe Odin thought that having Loki around was too dangerous – but what kind of bastard would do this to his own son?

Because sitting in front of her, fooling around with his food, wasn't even a scrap of the man that Loki once was . In front of her was a man that had lost his family and had no reason to keep going, and only God knows how many times she'd seen that same story.

"What happened to you, Loki?" She asked.

He sighed.

"I did something… bad, let's say. I thought I would be safe because I was Odin's son. I was wrong."

He shivered and Amora held his hand.

"One day the Void agents broke into my house. I told Sigyn and the kids to hide in the panic room while I tried to call someone in the palace, say that there was a rebellion, that I needed help…" He gulped. "Odin picked up, though. I asked for help. He said no. I was taken by the Void, and that's it."

Of course it wasn't it, but she wouldn't press him into telling all the details of what he endured while in the Void.

"They are all dead, I know this," Loki said, and when their eyes met she could see faint moisture on his. "But tell me. Did they… Did they suffer much? Do you think they did?"

She wanted to lie. She wanted to tell him that they had peaceful, calm deaths.

But you don't lie to a liar. You don't trick the trickster.

"No, Loki. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

And, God, how sorry she was.

* * *

On the other side of the city, at the top of one of the tallest Towers in southern Manhattan, Tony Stark wasn't having a great morning either, although his reasons were far less tragic. He was having a row with one of his robots, and that never left him in a good mood.

"DUM-E, put that fire extinguisher down, this is just a routine test, I'm not on fire," he said, waving his hands at the mechanical arm that swung the fire extinguisher around like it was a piece of cloth, not a 30-pound metal container. "No, I really mean it. If you douse me again and I'm not on fire, I'm donating you to the government. You'll live a happy life as a party trick."

The robot chirped sadly, but lowered the extinguisher anyways.

"Good boy," Tony said, focusing again on the chest piece of his armor he was working on and absentmindedly tracing the numbers on his hipline while he thought. "JARVIS, scan it, spot the problem."

There was a moment while blue lights hovered over the piece before the AI said anything.

"The cooling system appears to have problems, sir."

"This shitty nanotech it's too big to function properly," Tony growled, "You know what? I'll invent picotech. Mark this day, JARVIS, because I'll totally invent picotech. It'll sell like water."

"Already done, sir."

"Don't you sass me, I can still dismantle you."

"I'm sorry, but the probability that you'll function properly without my help is 2.35%."

Tony snorted, turning on his back and staring at his workshop, still thinking.

Messy didn't even began to cover it – It was proper chaos, with machines and tablets all around the workbenches, pieces of armor, holograms, blueprints, all sorts of things scattered around the room. The only neat things around were the five suits of armor, perfectly lined up in the back of the room.

The government didn't know about those, and hell, if depended on him, they would only know about it when it was time to blow the Palace up. To them, Stark Industries would never ever produce another weapon, but, you know, Tony wasn't the kind of guy that liked to play fair. If anything, the fact that Tony had a suit that could beat the shit out of a few hundreds of soldiers was basically their fault. If they didn't send the Void after him, he wouldn't be forced to build a suit to escape, wouldn't be an associate of S.H.I.E.L.D right now, and would never be playing the spy, playing for both sides and trying to win for only one.

Some would say that S.H.I.E.L.D is just an urban legend, something to give hope to those who wanted to end the government. Anyone with a head still on his shoulders and Machiavelli on his shelf knew that hope is as important as fear, and having such rumors would give hope to those who seek to get rid of the Commander. The government itself used it as a way to arrest dozens of dissidents at once.

But Tony knew best. He knew that S.H.I.E.L.D existed and acted in the shadows, just waiting for the perfect moment and the perfect excuse, carefully lead by Nick Fury, one of the best spies and probably the most two-faced asshole he'd ever met. After what the government did to him, Tony was more than willing to cooperate. Working alongside S.H.I.E.L.D gave him something to think about, something to work for, a greater good to look forward too.

But, as with any other organization, he had to put up with a few people that, in any normal situation, he would gladly avoid.

One of them was coming into his lab and lowering his music at that exact moment.

"Hey, hey, hey, no, this is not how it works," he said, pointing out to the ceiling. "You can't just come here like you own the place and lower my music!"

The red-headed woman shrugged, putting two tablets on his worktable.

"Pepper did while she was your PA, and it seems like it's the only way to get you to do stuff, anyways."

Everybody knew that talking about Pepper was a no-go, but apparently, Natasha Romanoff didn't get the memo, because she did it all the time. He swallowed down the lump on his throat with a cough.

"Just because she did it doesn't mean that you can," Tony said.

"But I'll do anyways because, in case you don't know, there's still a company to run. I need you to look over the documents in those two, sign them, and have JARVIS give them to me again Friday morning."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand at her. She had her intercom in her ear and a suitcase in her left hand – off to a mission, then. "Fury's got anything for me?"

"We're following a lead, probably will capture an important person on the day after the Naming Day." She scanned the workshop with hawk-like eyes. "We aren't so sure of where said person lives or what kinds of weapons they possess. Be alert, if we need you, we'll contact you and you must be there within five minutes."

Tony nodded.

"Go to the feast in the Palace today. Barton will cover you. Fury will stop by tomorrow to talk to you in person, but try to lay low."

"Don't I always?" He replied, snarky, because the last thing he wanted was to be bossed around by a secret spy, and despite the fact that it was "for the greater good" he could still be a sarcastic asshole to people he'd like to see miles away from him, right?

Of course, he couldn't be too much of an asshole because he was too nice for that. Nothing to do with the fact that Natasha could probably kill him before he could say "sorry" if she felt like it, nope.

"Quit it," she replied. "We'll keep an eye out for you. Barton should arrive at six. Good luck, Mr. Stark."

"My ass," He muttered, and if she heard, she ignored it completely, leaving the workshop like she owned the place and finally, finally, leaving him alone.

He didn't say anything for a few minutes, still staring at the door, thoughts on the feast held in Odin's honor. He used to like going to those – there was a lot of food, lots of pretty women and nice drinks too, the ones that even the black market couldn't sell as they were brought all the way down from New Europe as a gift from Queen Freyja. But after the Void, even though he would still receive invitations (Anthony Stark + 1, like they didn't know Pepper was dead), the parties lost all their appeal. He wouldn't go at all if S.H.I.E.L.D didn't insist.

Outside the tower, the thin rain turned into a raging storm, and Tony rubbed his face.

"How many hours do I have before Barton arrives?" He asked to the ceiling.

"About eight, sir."

"Plenty of time for you and me to solve this. Come on. Try alternatives."

* * *

The slums smelled like rain, dirt, rotting garbage and sewage, but the red-haired woman paid no mind to it, standing on a small building's roof. Her eyes scanned the windows she was watching since hours before, like a predator watching its prey.

She had been watching those same windows for hours, trying to catch the smallest sign of life. Finally, she got it. Pressing a button on her glasses, she zoomed in until she could see everything going on inside the apartment – the blonde woman with a ponytail folding shirts and the black haired man sitting on the bed. She focused on the man's face and pressed another button, taking several photos.

She waited for a minute, still staring at the man, capturing every single detail of its face, and then pressed her intercom.

"Director Fury, this is agent Romanoff. I've got him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

Fury didn't answer for a second.

"Come back to base. We'll get him after tomorrow."

"Roger that," she replied, and took another set of photos, just to be safe, before getting down the building to the street level. Once there, she looked up one last time, to the window where the member of the most hated family in the world was, lying on a bed like he could just ignore his past.

"Got you, Loki Odinson," She muttered to herself, a cold smirk on her face. "I've got you." Throwing another look to the window, she turned on her heels and walked away.

* * *

I just hate hate _hate_ this formatting so much, but wouldn't accept it otherwise. Many many thanks to beautiful Vicky (after-all-this-time-severus . tumblr . com), who made this become something acceptable. Also, this would never leave my computer if it wasn't by Luiza and Stella. I love you, wifes.

You can find me at privatelifecomedy . tumblr . com. I've posted this at AO3 too, if you like.


	2. Devil Has a Thousand Names

_Just as every cop is a criminal_

_And all the sinners saints_

_As heads is tails_

_Just call me Lucifer_

_'Cause I'm in need of some restraint_

* * *

Thrud was very angry at her parents that morning.

It was her grandfather's Naming Day, and that usually meant fancy dresses, complicated make-up, nice jewelry, beautiful people, and a gift from Queen Freyja - this year, she received a set of gold bracelets, studded with tiny little aquamarines. She was supposed to be quite happy enjoying the pampering that she would receive during the day.

But she was very, very angry.

The reason? A speech.

Every year, after the parade, one of the Commander's children or grandchildren would give a speech for the masses. Thrud loathed speaking in front of a crowd – she would much rather sing – but, thankfully, Vali would always volunteer for the task. Although he never wrote out what he would say, the words that came out of his mouth were so credible and so truthful that they seemed to be made of gold. It was said that he would be just like his father, having a silvertongue from such a young age.

But Loki was dead, Vali was dead too, and Thrud couldn't just fill the place of her cousin like he was worth absolutely nothing.

"I said I'm not doing it!"

"You will do no such thing, young lady," her father replied, "This speech is a tradition, and if Vali is not here to do it, you will. Not doing it is out of question."

"I don't give a damn thing about traditions!" That little vein on her father's temple would burst at this very moment, Thrud predicted. Her father usually had an almost golden skin – his head was now as red as a tomato. It gave her an odd sense of accomplishment – seeing her father like that and knowing that she had managed to annoy him out of his mind once again.

"How do you expect me to give a speech about how happy our family is when we have lost so much?"

"Every family has losses, Thrud, this is not our privilege," her mother said. "We mourn, but I think I'm able to say we've never been better. I know you are upset about Vali's death, but you must understand that it was an accident. A terrible, tragic accident indeed, but an accident nonetheless."

It wasn't an _accident_, she wanted to reply, but she bit her tongue instead – the walls had ears and the line between being a rebellious teenager and badmouthing the government was thin. _There is no such thing as accidental shooting_, she thought. _Odin didn't even have the decency to give Aunt Sigyn the right to bury her child. You're all fuckers and I _hate_ you_.

Yes, she hated her parents. She hated them for their compliance with a monster that was capable of murdering his own family for not agreeing with him. She hated her father for becoming the exact copy of this man that she had once admired, and now loathed. She hated her mother for being so alienated and caring more about her jewelry than her own nephew being murdered by her father-in-law. She hated her sister Lorride for being a child and not having a single clue that their world was crumbling around them.

She couldn't say it, though. Thrud was smart enough to know that contradicting her parents could leave a red mark on her face with the exact same size of her father's hand. So she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, swallowing down the lump on her throat.

"Find someone else. This is not fair."

"Life's not fair, Thrud!" Her father boomed, the sound of his voice resonating around the bedroom. Her mother hissed, like the scream had physically hurt her, and punched his arm. He lowered his voice. "You will do as you're told. As long as you live under my roof, you will play by my rules."

There was a moment of silence, and Thrud stared at her parents defiantly, chin up.

"I will do as I'm told for today," she said. "But know that as soon as I can, I'll leave and you'll never see me again. I want to see how you two are going to explain how I went missing. Maybe you can say that there was an accident. Perhaps another accidental shooting. That would do the trick, wouldn't it?"

The silence that filled the room was so dense and so deep that it was possible to hear a pin drop. The shocked expression on her parents' face was the best she could ever ask for – she couldn't scream, she couldn't argue, but she could damn well know the truth and shove it in her parents' smug faces and make it _hurt_. She couldn't say no, but she could make them suffer just as she did, because they let it happen. They let Vali die. They killed her best friend.

"If that's all," she bowed mockingly, "Thor, Sif".

Like hell she would call them mom and dad.

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be ok?"

Why wouldn't he be? His family didn't know he was alive, let alone curled up in front of the television, watching the parade. Loki was as safe as he could be, and there was even (cheap) hot chocolate for him to fight the cold. Nothing could harm him there.

At least, not physically.

There was a sting in his chest when he thought about how, five years ago, he would be getting ready for the parade, with a wife and kids to show to the country. Now he had no family and no actual reason to get up from the couch and do anything but stare at the complicated event on his TV.

"I'll be fine. Go."

Amora was wearing a black skirt, with a white fake-silk shirt underneath a black blazer. It was one of the many approved-by-the-government clothes that seemed to fill her wardrobe. Her blonde hair was falling freely around her shoulders, and she wore the same necklace that she'd wore every day, ever since they'd met. It was a silly golden thing, probably not even made of gold, but she seemed to like it. What she didn't seem to like, though, was standing in the rain, watching a parade.

"There's food in the fridge, if you need any."

"When are you coming back?"

"No idea. Those fucking parades are taking longer every year. Go to bed when you feel tired."

She stood by his side for a few moments, chewing on her lower lip, then nodded and went out the door. He heard the lock sliding shut – he felt safer this way.

He knew what would happen if she didn't show up to the parade. If you had a Legal Citizen's Registration card registered in New York, you had to go to the celebrations. If you didn't, a government doctor would knock on your door – only the terminally ill and a family member could stay at home during an official event – and, if that wasn't the case, he would call the Void to search every inch of your house. If nothing suspicious was found, you would have to pay a fine. If anything suspicious was found, they would take you.

Needless to say, there were few things more suspicious than the son of the Commander, supposedly dead, sitting in your living room.

The parades occurred three times a year, all preceded by mighty feasts at the Palace. In April, it celebrated the rise of the regimen. In June, it was the Commander's Naming Day. The last one happened four days before the end of December, when the Commander made a special speech about the development of the country through the year. Loki knew that it was all bullshit – the country was a train wreck, and if it weren't for Queen Freyja and New Europe, they would be chest-deep in an economic crisis. Each parade had common points, though – every Tower would set off fireworks and project holograms in the sky, every student would have to march in Central Avenue, and Odin & his relatives would wave to the people from very expensive cars. Then, when the parade reached the Palace, Odin himself would make a speech to the masses.

In New York, the parades happened later than the parades around the country – while every other major city held its own in the morning, in New York the celebrations begun at 15:00, and the parade itself started at 17:00 because the event was aired live, and every citizen was expected to stick their butts tin a chair and hear their leader speak, from anywhere in the country.

Everyone had to hear his lies. The worst part was that everyone believed them. People saw Odin as their own father – the Allfather, the media liked to call him – and thrived on whatever shit he said. _Once,_ Loki thought, _I was also one of them. I believed him, gave him my loyalty, lied, cheated, and wreaked chaos upon innocents in his name. And what for? What have I earned from this blind devotion?_

The TV showed actual footage of the Palace, with the Commander's family ready to go – Loki clenched his hand at the sight of his brother, sister-in-law, and nieces. How disgustingly _happy_ they seemed. Except…

Except Thrud didn't. His niece seemed genuinely unhappy until she saw the cameras, putting on the brightest smile she could produce. Thrud wasn't the kind of girl to fake or pretend to be happier or more satisfied that she was, despite the expectations of being in the Commander's family, mostly because she had been best friends with Vali and wore her heart on her sleeve, just like him.

The memory of his dead son made Loki cringe, and he focused on the TV.

"And here we have Thor and his family going to the parade! Sif is absolutely stunning this year, the red of her dress does wonders for her skin color…"

"Shove Sif's dress up your ass," he hissed, and threw his pillow at the screen. The woman kept talking.

* * *

"I gave you one fucking task, Stark, as simple as finding poor people on the streets, one simple fucking task, and you fucked it up!"

Tony didn't want to argue – he was too tired and hungover. The feast at the palace the day before was a complete failure when it came to getting information about the enemy, but an enormous victory if you're talking about getting drunk. Damn those New European drinks, why were they so good?

"Chill out, Fury. I'm Tony Stark. People expect me to get drunk." And how the hell do you expect me to put up with that people if I don't get wasted? He added, mentally. Fury wouldn't understand.

Going to the palace and shaking Odin's hand felt like giving Pepper's executioner a peck on the lips and twelve red roses. When that insufferable old man smiled, people saw wisdom in the wrinkles by his eyes, but Tony heard Pepper's screams, what she begged for, and remembered her body thrown in a…

He fisted his hands – thinking about Pepper was never pleasant. It was enough that he had her picture over his piano, her clothes in the master bedroom closet and all the forbidden books that she liked to read in the Tower's basement – imagine, _books_. Everyone had a Reader, and she wasn't an exception, but she said she liked the feel of the pages and the smell. Tony always thought they smelled like dust, but she had liked those stupid, forbidden romance novels about teenagers forced to fight to death or trying to find their place in a society that had been overwritten and forgotten, so Tony kept them so well-guarded that not even the Void could find them.

He couldn't bring himself to remove everything that had belonged to her and throw it away, couldn't bring himself to start his life again, because _how_ – how could he live again if Pepper wasn't alive? There were no more smiles and hugs and kisses and fights that always ended up in bed. Pepper was dead, he heard her die, and he saw her lifeless shell. Yet he couldn't let her go.

It was for Pepper, and only for Pepper, that he had joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Only because Pepper had died at the hands of the government, only because, two years later, Tony still craved blood. He had Obadiah's blood on his hands now, yes, but it wasn't enough. They took away his heart, he would return the favor.

His hand tapped repetitively at the arc reactor on his chest before he could realize.

"I sent you there to collect information. You collected absolutely nothing but fucking drinks. If I hadn't had a promising capture tomorrow, you'd be screwed," Fury barked. "The next dinner you're invited to, invent whatever fucking excuse you need so you don't put a damn drop of alcohol in your mouth and listen. You're the only one with a free pass to that place."

"Alright, mommy," Tony waved his hand, like the lecture didn't mean shit to him. It did, but what he really wanted was for Fury to leave so he could sulk in peace. The gesture had the bonus of making Fury's face turn so red that it seemed that it would burst.

There was one last thing, though. "Who's this mysterious person you're trying to capture? Thor?"

"No. Close. You're going to know soon, but we're interrogating him first, and the motherfucker won't be alive after we're done with him, so don't bother."

Of course he'd bother. He wasn't a fan of the way S.H.I.E.L.D did things, but then again, maybe they finally got their hands on someone important to the government and Tony would finally have his chance to lash out.

"Remember this talk, Stark. The next parade is already coming. Work on getting sober or I swear to god I'll make you stick every bottle of every drink you have in your bar up your ass."

Tony grinned, and waved mockingly as Fury made a dramatic exit out of the living room. As soon as he left, though, Tony let himself collapse onto the sofa. A sequence of images ran behind his closed eyelids – Void agents breaking into the penthouse, Pepper's screaming, shrapnel in his heart, burned numbers on his waist, Pepper's blood…

He groaned and went to the bar in the corner of the room. Just a dose, that's what he needed. Just a dose or two to forget.

(Needless to say, it didn't really matter how many times he tried, alcohol wouldn't make him forget. But he still had his hopes. Maybe this time. Maybe.)

* * *

The moon was high in the sky when Thor and Sif returned to their bedroom. The parade, the supper, the speeches, everything was quite tiring, but Thor was satisfied with how everything went. Sif, on the other hand, felt like there was a black hole in her stomach.

"You're anxious because of Thrud's tantrum this morning, aren't you?" Thor sighed, closing the bedroom door. "Don't make that face, no one heard anything," He looked around and thought for a second of two before sitting on the bed. "They did comment on her speech, but Father said the crying was good, made it look real. Don't worry."

"How the hell do you want me not to worry, goddamnit?" Sif snapped, twisting her necklace between her fingers. She was still wearing her parade dress, and the moonlight made the red of the fabric shine like blood and she hated it. Actually, she hated all of that. If she could choose, she would take her daughters and run away from Odin as fast as she could.

And to think she once dreamed about marrying Thor and living amongst the powerful.

"Nothing is going to happen to Thrud, Sif, calm down!"

"Well, we thought nothing was going to happen to Loki, but look how well that went, huh?"

Thor looked like Sif had hit him in the face – but he couldn't deny it was true.

"You know that Father had to. He wanted to send those missiles to Iceland, for Christ's sake!" He ran his hands through his hair. "That would throw us into war again, and you know that. You know Odin fought very hard to stop them!"

"Loki was his son, Thor, how many times do I have to remind you? He threw his son to the arms of the Void! It doesn't matter what Loki did or had ever done, if Odin let the Void take Loki he had never loved hi…"

She stopped as soon as Thor rose from the bed and pointed his index finger at her.

"Don't you dare say Father never loved him; it was the most difficult decision he has ever made. And who are you to say anything about letting the Void take someone? You were the one who sent the Void after Amora, as far as I remember!"

"I was raising two daughters on my own and all you could do was fuck that stupid whore," Sif hissed. "Talking to you never solved anything; I had to do something for the sake of my children."

Thor groaned, fisting his fingers.

"Father did what he had to do. He is wise enough to know what the consequences for his actions are."

"I'm very sorry, dear, but poisoning a seven-year-old child?" Sif shook her head, "Shooting an eleven year old child? That's not wisdom, that's cruelty."

"It was accidental…"

"Oh please. You may think your father has a halo over his head, but you can't deny the shooting was planned. Vali had just found out how to hack the Void system. He knew his father wasn't killed by terrorists. The only thing Vali could be blamed for was being too intelligent for his own good. He was Odin's grandson, just as Thrud is his granddaughter. There's no difference."

"What are you asking me to do, Sif?" Thor asked, getting close and into her personal space. She blinked. The question caught her unprepared.

Facing the facts, there wasn't anything he could do, except open his eyes and see exactly what Odin was. But he wouldn't, he never would. Thor was blind to Odin's faults, ever since he was a child. Odin was his father, his idol, his hero, his role model. And it hurt her to see that the man she once loved was becoming just like the Commander. A copy. The only thing she could hope for was for Thor to never lose his heart.

"Protect her as long as you can," She asked, voice small and pained whilst she gripped his shoulders tight. "This is a mother's request, Thor. You've always been his favorite son. Maybe you stand a chance. Please, protect Thrud until I can fit into her head how dangerous it is to speak her mind."

"I always will," Thor nodded.

"Thank you," she said, letting go of his arms. There was a moment of silence, and she cleared her throat. "I will sleep with Lorride tonight, she doesn't like the fireworks."

"Father wants me in the assembly later," Thor said, "you should probably go."

She turned her back and left the room, closing the door carefully and making her way to her child's bedroom. Her feet led the way, for her head was busy with those nagging, lingering thoughts of _what if? What if Thor can't protect Thrud?_

_What if Thor forgets to listen to his heart?_

* * *

_"Widow, are you in position?"_

"Yes sir."

_"Give me an overview."_

"The woman just arrived. There are lights in the living room. Target is inside the apartment."

_"We will be there in thirty. Keep watching."_

"Roger that."

* * *

When Amora got home from the parade, she found Loki sleeping on the sofa.

It was late, almost midnight, and she sighed while removing her shoes. Her neck was stiff and her legs were screaming fire for the long hours of abuse standing under the rain. Her clothes were drenched and she was in a very bad mood – usual, for a Parade day.

Loki was tangled in the covers, and he had a frown on his face. Still too thin, she thought, eyeing one of his wrists. Sighing again, she considered the probability of lying down on the floor and sleeping there - dragging herself to the bed seemed way too troublesome. But she had to go to work the next morning and her neck was asking for a good pillow.

"I never thought the parades were that tedious for someone watching them," Loki mumbled, eyes still closed. "You deserve an award for standing there."

"I do receive one: the right to keep on living." She gave up and sat on the floor, crossed her legs, and rested her head on the couch. "How long have you been sleeping?"

"I don't know. The last thing I remember was an overview of 'Allfather Odin's recent losses in the family' and sequence of photos of Sigyn's accident."

Oh_, shit_.

"They didn't blame S.H.I.E.L.D this time, though," He opened his eyes, finally, and stared at the TV – there was a movie going on, but neither of them knew what movie it was. "Said the death of my family was an attack by a group called… What was it called again?"

"Sigma?" she said, mind racing through the memories of the past news reports. Sigma was a terrorist organization, rather fond of violent attacks, that was formed four to five years ago.

"Yes. Pity. I wonder what's going on for them to change the scapegoat. They have been using S.H.I.E.L.D as a potential threat for over two centuries, even though it wasn't real. Thor and I used to…" He stiffened for a moment, and then cleared his throat. "Never mind."

In the silence that followed, Amora thought about saying a thousand different things. Like _I'm sorry_, or _I feel bad for you. _What she really wanted to say, though, was _I understand you. I lost a brother and a sister and their deaths were but another number for the stats. I lost a mother and a father too, and I'm alone in the world, just like you. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry._ She couldn't say anything like that, but the way she held his wrist could say it for her. Loki offered her a pained smile.

"Do you have work tomorrow?"

"I do, actually. I should be getting to..."

She couldn't finish her sentence - A group of people in black uniforms and large guns broke into her living room, breaking her dinner table and pointing a gun to her face. _Not _them_, not now_, she thought, memories of pain, suffering, broken bones, shattered pride and unstoppable darkness, empty, dangerous darkness filling her mind.

Loki held her hand tight, but there was a sharp pain in the back of her neck, and all she saw was black.

* * *

He was expecting darkness. When he opened his eyes, he was welcomed by a blinding white light.

"Loki Odinson," a voice said, and he couldn't tell where it was coming from. Not Odinson, he wanted to say, but realized, a bit too late and with a great deal of despair, that he was gagged and his hands were bound back. He was in a too-white room with a white ceiling and white walls. There wasn't a door, or a window, not even a bed or a toilet. "You thought you could fool us?"

A sharp, continuous sound filled his ears, his mind not able to process anything else but the single thought of _Not again_.

This time, he wasn't very sure he would survive.

* * *

Again, special thanks for Vicky, who makes sure this is still readable. A rather loud "I LOVE YOU" to Stella, for being so enthusiastic and lovely, and Luiza, for being my bullshit meter. I'd be a walking nonsense if not by you, wifes. The lyrics are from Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil. Awesome song to listen when you're sleep deprived and trying to write.


End file.
